This Used to be My Playground
by Arynn Octavia
Summary: In an attempt to break Harry out of his reclusive life since leaving Hogwarts, Headmistress McGonagall offers him a job as DADA professor, but there's a catch. SLASH. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This fic takes place five years after Harry's last year at Hogwarts. Timeline wise, it goes A/U after his sixth year, so in this universe, the events in Deathly Hallows never happened.

**This Used to be My Playground**

It's amazing how our own point of view can shape our perceptions. Harry remembered how he felt the first time he saw Hogwarts. He was only 11 years old at the time. The ancient castle, made from seemingly impenetrable cold stone, loomed overhead like a thunder cloud. It was almost intimidating. Even as a boy of 11, Harry had the sense that it had been there forever, and that it would be there still, even after Harry was gone from this planet. Harry was filled with wonder at the history and beauty of the whole thing, nervous about what his new life would bring, nervous that he would not cut it. He needed to prove that he deserved a life like this, that he was worthy… That first time he saw Hogwarts, he was filled with awe.

Each year when he returned, Hogwarts appeared different even though it was exactly the same. The same towers scraping against the same sky, the same stone gargoyles looking down at him from above, the same walls of ancient rock; it all looked identical, but seemed so different to Harry. The cold intimidation had been replaced by a warm feeling of belonging. No matter what he had to go through with his family, he knew he would always belong at Hogwarts. He was accepted and embraced at Hogwarts. The towers now held memories, like sneaking illicit dragons out of the castle at midnight, stolen kisses between lectures, and the time during astronomy class when Seamus had coated Professor Sinistra's telescope eyepiece with shoe polish and Parvati had wet herself laughing. Where the gargoyles had once seemed threatening, they now seemed to be there to protect him and all that he cared about. The ancient stone walls now connected him to a proud history. Thousands of wizards had passed through these halls, and thousands more would pass after Harry was long gone, and Harry had a link to all of them. For a boy who had no real memories of his real family, and was despised by the relatives who had raised him, that sense of connectedness was never taken for granted.

During the last battle of the war, when the sacred halls of Hogwarts had been invaded by Death Eaters, when Harry had watched so many good people die within these very walls to fight for what was really right, when Harry watched these stone towers, towers that had once seemed so permanent that he could have sworn that they were part of the earth itself, crumble under an onslaught of dark curses, Hogwarts seemed different still. The preciousness of the history seemed so much more important when everything Hogwarts stood for was on the brink of vanishing. Hogwarts itself was on the brink, but there was a purpose to all of the death and destruction. These people were laying their lives on the line to protect it and everything it stood for.

They seemed to have rebuilt that tallest tower. Harry couldn't decide what he thought of that. It looked like it had always looked, there was no visual indication that it had ever been damaged, which unsettlingly clashed with his most recent memory of the place, when the tower lay in pieces, spread out at the base of the castle like fallen leaves. The urgency that the moment had entailed hadn't given him time to really process what was happening, and afterwards there were the dead to deal with, victory feasts, and Harry still hadn't the time to think about the destruction of the tower beyond the three people who had been crushed beneath its weight when it fell. Now seeing it fully intact, Harry had to remind himself that his memory of that last battle was accurate, and that the tower had indeed fallen. He was also shaken with the thought that perhaps these stone towers weren't as permanent as he had thought they were. He wondered how many times in the past the castle had been magically repaired after suffering some devastating blow.

Finally, Harry settled on the decision that students in the years to come deserved to make memories of Hogwarts as the ancient magical haven that it is, and not a fallen icon of years past. Harry made his way up to the aged oak front doors, and paused only momentarily before entering his old alma mater. Walking into the great hall, Harry was struck by that eerie feeling you get when you see a place, usually filled with people, deserted. Harry had seen these halls empty before, but that was usually in the dead of night when he could be found sneaking around with Ron and Hermione. Now, in the mid morning sunlight shining through old stained glass windows, when the only perceivable movement in the hall was of dust particles floating lazily in the rays of that sun, the eerie feeling flooded his consciousness full force.

Harry pulled out a certain aged bit of parchment, and his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." He scanned the map and confirmed that there was not another living soul in the school, aside from the troops of house elves going about their daily chores. This filled him with the sudden urge to run through the halls singing vulgar school-boy songs at the top of his lungs. With a grin he pushed his childish urge out of his mind and made his way to the room at the base of Gryffindor tower, the room that would, from this point on, be his private chambers.

He had a few hours to unpack. Minerva wouldn't be arriving until that afternoon, and he suspected that he was the only faculty member who would be staying the summer at Hogwarts. His future colleagues probably had families and loved ones they wished to spend time with over the summer, before being forced to spend so many months away from them during the school year.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box the size of a sugar cube. Stooping to place it in the ground in the corner, he pointed his wand at it and whispered, "engorgio." The box grew into a very large steamer trunk. He reached into the trunk and began taking out his belongings, including a bed, table and chairs, a sofa and two wingbacked chairs, a wardrobe, and a shelf full of books. After all of these were in place, he pointed his wand at each of them, removing the feather light charm he had put on them to make arranging his new room easier. He then pointed his wand at the steamer trunk again saying, "Reducio." He picked up his sugar cube –sized trunk and made his way down to the dungeons, where his new office would be. Repeating the same process in that room, he removed another bunch of shelves full of books and all manner of dark detectors he had collected over the years, a desk and couple chairs, and a ficus. He reduced the steamer trunk again, and put it in the top drawer of the desk.

Not knowing what to do since he still had a few hours until Minerva would be at the Three Broomsticks to meet with him, he decided to explore Hogwarts. He took the map out again, scanning it for any ideas. He really fancied exploring now. Although he had spent seven years of his life thinking of this castle as home, most of his explorations of the place had been tinged with some sense of urgency. Running through halls to get to a class, hiding from Filtch or Mrs. Norris, night time escapes into the castle under an invisibility cloak, always attempting to keep as quiet and small as possible as to avoid getting caught and punished. Then during the last battle, running through the halls fighting off curses and attempting to pull the wounded to safety, and his last confrontation with Voldemort down in the Chamber of Secrets. He had never had an opportunity to go where he wanted, when he wanted, without a feeling of foreboding on his tail. Now he felt free to roam at a leisurely pace, and that is what he'd do.

As he walked through the halls of Hogwarts he found himself seeing the castle anew yet again. As new professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, head of Gryffindor house, and after his varying past experiences in the castle, he was surprised to feel within himself a new sense of foreboding, totally unrelated to the life-threatening fear that had followed him around during his first seven years living in this castle. Now that the education of young witches and wizards was in his hands, he felt like he should be walking around the castle in confident self-assurance. He had the responsibility to help teach Britain's future wizards and witches how to hold their own in situations involving dark wizards, and every other nasty thing that might come along. He should feel more grown up, so why did he feel like a helpless eleven year old again, scared shitless by this new life that lay before him?

-- -- -- -- --

Minerva McGonagall sat at a table in the back of the Three Broomsticks, sipping her mead, waiting for the arrival of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She had been tempted to order a firewiskey, in an attempt to deal with what she was about to have to do, but she figured she best have her wits about her. She felt somewhat guilty, she hadn't been entirely forthright. She doubted he would have taken the job if he had known… Still, it was for his own good.

She had hired him based on his talent; there was no doubt about that. Even as a young boy, he had taken to the subject like a fish to water. Sad, that a child so young should have even had a chance to prove his penchant for fighting all things dark and evil, but prove it he did. Repeatedly. He was also one of the more qualified people she could think of for the job. After helping him through his NEWTS, just as she had vowed she would in his fifth year, he had been accepted into the Auror training program. He proved himself once again, consistently top of his class in all things involving fighting the darkness. He had graduated the program with highest honors, received his Auror qualifications, and then proceeded to take a job in a muggle record shop.

She understood how he might not want to be an Auror any more. He had fought and killed the worst dark wizard in half a century, the dark wizard who had single handedly destroyed Harry's life and all who were important to him, all before Harry was officially a fully qualified wizard. His fighting days were behind him before he had had a chance to even live his life. But still, why had he gone through the Auror training if it wasn't what he had wanted? She hoped he hadn't done it out of some sense of obligation to the wizarding world. The responsibility to vanquish the dark lord had been hoisted onto his shoulders without his consent, perhaps it had left it's residue in his mind, and he couldn't escape the push to be a hero.

The job at the record shop hadn't lasted long before the hero had struck again, and Obliviators had had to be called in to erase from several muggle's minds the memory of Harry levitating a van that had overturned and trapped a toddler underneath as he showed up for work one Saturday morning. After the record shop had been a delivery job, and the need for the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Office to explain away a stack of pizzas seen falling off the back of a flying motorbike. Minerva didn't even want to think about his brief stint as a dog walker that had culminated in a prank involving the Weasley twins, 20 dungbombs, and a very crowded park in a muggle neighborhood. Since then, it had been agreed by all that Harry should stay away from all things muggle, but as he still garnered stares and whispers, and more than his fair share of adoring glances and spiteful sneers while in the wizarding world, he had taken to never leaving the flat in Diagon Alley he had shared with Ronald and Hermione Weasley.

It was actually his friends who had contacted her. They were concerned over his increasingly hermit-like behavior, and she was inclined to agree. She knew money wasn't a problem for him, but it wasn't good for someone so young to be so... In their five years since leaving Hogwarts, Harry's cohorts had mostly paired off, some of them, like the Weasleys, were already having children. They had careers, they had lives. It seemed that Harry, once he had defeated Voldemort, had figured his life complete, his purpose served, and was simply waiting for the end. No one should give up on life by the age of 23. Minerva saw Harry as the answer to her newly opened Defense post, and hoped that she could break him of his reclusive behavior in the process.

The pub suddenly grew quiet, which could only mean one thing. Minerva looked up and saw him entering. An uncomfortable smile fixed on his face as he scanned the sea of faces turn to him, whispering. Minerva signaled him, and he made his way to the back of the pub. She remarked to herself that he seemed impervious to the dreamy glances that random witches shot him as he passed. The fact that he was Harry Potter, newest savior of the wizarding world, would have been enough to draw the longing stairs, even if he had looked like Gregory Goyle. Merlin knows, after his defeat of Grindelwald, Albus had received numerous love letters from random admirers, and he had already been 90 years old at the time. It didn't help Harry that he had grown into a very handsome young man, strikingly handsome, actually. Even had he not saved them all from Voldemort, he would have had his admirers. After a while, the patrons of the pub went back to their own business, only those closest to the headmistress of Hogwarts and her newest staff member continued to glance at them while simultaneously trying to appear uninterested.

"Hello, Minerva."

"Hello, Harry."

They greeted with a handshake that turned into a hug before they both sat on opposite sides of the table.

"Did the move go well?"

"Yeah, it was okay. With all the moving recently, I've had lots of practice."

"You mean your move from the apartment you shared with the Weasleys' to the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Well that, and…oh, but you don't know yet, do you? They've just found out they're having twins! There was no way that tiny flat was going to be big enough for four people, two of them a set of Weasley twins. They just bought a house at Ashover in Derbyshire. I helped them move last weekend."

The look of horror on Minerva's face confused Harry, until she explained. "Another set of Weasley twins?"

"Oh, yeah! When he found out, Ron called his mother looking for sympathy. She just laughed at him, maniacally."

"Lord, help us all."

"Yeah." Harry chuckled and it struck Minerva how incredibly handsome and charming he really was. She was enjoying their easy camaraderie, which made her dread even more the news she was about to have to spring on him.

"Well, we have hired a new caretaker, but he won't be arriving on site until mid-August. Hagrid is still on vacation with Olympe, and he will also not be back until August."

"That's alright, really. I quite fancy some time to myself."

Oh, no. Here goes.

"Actually, we have two additional new faculty appointments this year. Transfiguration and Potions. The new potions professor will actually be arriving tomorrow."

"Oh, anyone I know?"

She had to look away from those strikingly green eyes as she spoke, "Draco Malfoy."

"What?!?!?!" His growl drew more stares from the nearby pub-dwellers.

"Harry. You've been locked away from civilization for so long; the company could do you good."

"I'd rather room with one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts."

"Now, really. Don't you think it is time to put aside these schoolboy rivalries? You know that he has been on our side since…" She couldn't believe, even after six years, that it could still hitch her breathing like this.

"The death of Dumbledore." Harry finished her sentence for her.

"The man sacrificed a lot that night, all for Draco's sake. He may have been a batty old codger-," she blew her nose loudly, "but he was an excellent judge of character. And Draco has proven Dumbledore right many times over since then."

Harry grumbled to himself, but his experience in war had taught him to recognize a losing situation, and Harry saw that Minerva would not be swayed from her position here. A half hour later, as he made his way back up to the castle that was now his home, Harry couldn't help thinking to himself, 'There goes the rest of MY relaxing summer.'

End Chapter One

TBC

-- -- -- -- --

**A/N: **If you know what kind of writer I am, you know what to expect from this fic: There will be drama, humour, romance, intrigue, and it will take me bloody ages to update. Sorry.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke up the next morning realizing he never asked Minerva what time Draco would be arriving. So un-looking forward to his day and what it would include, Harry considered just hiding out in his private chambers all summer, but he decided that putting off the inevitable would only prolong the suffering, so he prepared for his day, contemplating the turn his life had taken as he got dressed. Fighting wasn't something he wanted to have to do any more. He'd had enough of that to last many people several lifetimes. So why did Minerva insist on putting him in a situation where it was inevitable? If he didn't know any better, he could swear Draco took the job on purpose just to torment him.

Harry made his way down to the great hall to find it blessedly empty. He allowed himself a short period of relaxation as he ate his breakfast quickly, then retreated off to his quarters to do some reading and planning for the year's lessons.

Again at lunch he warily made his way down to the great hall and found it empty. Relaxing again, he piled his plate with food, and that's when it happened.

Harry heard a shuffling of feet and looked up from his meal. There, the lone figure of Draco Malfoy was making its way into the great hall. When they had last met, Draco had apparently been in his awkward teenage stage, but Harry had to admit that the years since he had seen the Slytherin had been kind to the man. He had filled out nicely, both his body and his face, so that he didn't look pointed now so much as he looked chiselled. His hair was slightly longer now too, and loose about his forehead and ears. It fell just short of his eyes and swept across his forehead in a casually elegant way that Harry's still-unruly mop could never hope to achieve. The style complimented Draco's face better than the slicked-back cut of his youth. Harry wondered if he himself had changed as much since they last met, and whether the change was as…positive.

It was then that Draco saw that he was not alone in the room. He had scanned across the staff table, and seen Harry sitting at one end of it. They locked eyes and Harry felt a surge of triumph that Draco looked genuinely shocked to see him there. The man appeared to be considering turning and leaving the great hall. He stood there, hesitating, and Harry smiled to himself, which ended up coming out as a leer. Finally, it seemed that the blond decided to face what was coming, and approached the staff table. Though, he did sit on the opposite end of the bench as Harry sat on, which Harry counted as a victory to himself.

They sat, eating their meals. The only sound that broke the silence was the occasional dismal scrape of cutlery against plate. Neither man looked in the direction of the other. Harry finished his meal and got up to leave, only thankful that there hadn't been a fight. He left the room without looking back.

He found it hard to concentrate on his lesson plans that afternoon. He considered contacting Minerva to complain, but really, the other man had done nothing wrong, yet.

Harry knew he had to come up with some sort of plan to help him get through the summer. At dinner time he made his way down to the kitchens. Though he was forced to share the castle with Draco, he could avoid actually having to be in the same room with the other man this way.

When he opened the secret door to the kitchens he was greeted by the enthusiastic bundle of energy that was Dobby.

"Harry Potter, it is wonderful to be seeing you!"

"Hi, Dobby, how are you?"

"I is doing great. I is been promoted to head elf!"

'House elves have hierarchies?' Harry thought to himself. "That's great Dobby! What is that delicious smell?"

"We is making rack of lamb, garlic herb rice, sautéed vegetables, and rum trifle."

"That sounds delicious. Can I have some?"

"Certainly, Harry Potter! We is serving it upstairs right now!"

"No, I mean, could you give me some here?"

Dobby's face fell, and it seemed like it pained him to speak. "I is sorry, Harry Potter. We is under strict orders not to allow Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy to take food from the kitchens."

"Both of us?"

"Yes, sir. Draco Malfoy is being down to the kitchens not five minutes before Harry Potter."

'Damn-' "Can you send some food up to my room?"

Harry didn't think it possible, but the elf's face fell even more. "No sir, we is to be only serving meals in the great hall, and at meal times."

'That blasted woman has thought of everything,' Harry thought to himself. He grumbled on the way out, wondering what he had done to his former teacher to incur such a wrath from her. Harry considered a hunger strike, but rack of lamb was one of his favourite dishes, and his stomach gave a loud protest.

When he arrived in the great hall Draco was already there, and by the looks of it, he had only just begun to eat. The man looked up at him momentarily, before focusing back down on his meal. Harry made his way to his own side of the bench and began to serve himself. It wasn't until he was ready to cut into his chop that he looked around for the Dijon. There didn't seem to be any on the table. That was odd; the house elves always put Dijon on the table when they served lamb. It was then that he smelled what he was looking for. Draco was spooning out a pile of it onto the edge of his plate from the only pot of Dijon in site.

Had Minerva instructed the house elves to only put one pot of Dijon on the table? He debated with himself on whether he should just eat his chops without the Dijon, or ask Draco for some. He was just about to give in and take his first bite when a though occurred to him. Did he want to live like this, scared of any interaction he might be forced to endure with his co-worker?

He did not. "Could you please pass the Dijon?" he asked as nicely as he could think to, but even to his own ears his request sounded harsh.

"It's right here, why don't you come get it?"

"It's right within your reach; you could just pass it over."

"What, would you like me to toss is across the great hall?"

"You could slide it across the table."

Draco looked him in the eye for the first time then, and the look on his face clearly indicated what he thought of Harry's request. "There are ten feet between us. It could slide off the edge of the table, or you could miss catching it. Just come here and get it."

"I won't miss if you slide it right, Malfoy. Just pass it over!"

Draco huffed as if he were about to say something, but then he just shook his head and grabbed the Dijon to slide across the table. To his credit, he slid it right down the middle, and hard enough for the Dijon to reach Harry's outstretched hand. What Harry hadn't counted on was the Dijon continuing to move when his hand caught the jar. Just as his fist closed around the jar the mustard within sloshed up over the rim and on to his hand.

"Bugger!"

Draco, who had been watching the whole time, sniggered at the proud Gryffindor.

Harry glared at him, and the man glared back, neither wanting to be the first to look away in this silent battle of wills. Harry continued glaring as he brought his hand up to his mouth to suck the Dijon off of his fingers. The glare slid off Draco's face as he watched the Gryffindor rid his fingers of the sauce. His eyes widened for a second before they narrowed.

"You know, in the civilized world we use napkins."

When Harry continued licking and sucking the sauce off of his fingers, Draco quickly looked away, noisily dropping his utensils on his plate.

"I've suddenly lost my appetite."

He got up and exited the great hall quickly. Harry watched him go, a feeling of guilt growing in his gut. The other man HAD tried to warn him.

-- -- -- -- --

It went on like that for days. They would only see each other during meals, and they would hardly speak. When they did, it always degraded into a bickering match, if not an all-out fight. Sometimes Draco was the instigator, sometimes it was Harry. Harry found the whole situation quite depressing. It was worse to have hostile company that mostly ignored you than it was to be alone.

It was during one of their arguments at dinner one evening when Draco said something unexpected.

"Look, we have to work together. We don't have to be friends, but at least we can be civil."

Harry tried to fight back the annoyance that it was Draco who had said it first. He was sure Draco planned it that way to make Harry feel immature, especially since Draco had started the argument that evening in the first place. But, not wanting to make it worse for himself, Harry agreed.

They sat in silence for the remainder of the meal, neither wanting to break the current, and probably short lived, truce.

The next morning when Harry got down to the great hall for breakfast, Draco was already there, but he was not sitting in his usual spot at the far end of the table, rather he was sitting directly in the middle of it. At the most, Harry would be able to sit only four seats away. He didn't want to let on that this wasn't easy for him, so he elected to sit right beside Draco, who seemed surprised when he did so.

They began to eat their meals in silence, but their close proximity made this even more uncomfortable. Harry could hear every breath Draco took, he could smell the fresh scent of his personal care products, he could swear he could even feel the body heat radiating from the other man. It was so much easier ignoring someone when their very presence wasn't permeating your five senses. Not able to stand the silence in the face of their close proximity any longer, Harry decided to throw the hat in. He didn't want to give Draco the satisfaction of always being the "grown up" one.

"So, how has your life been since Hogwarts?"

Harry regretted his question almost immediately. Before this summer, the last time he had seen Draco in person was during the last battle in these very halls. Draco had fought alongside Harry, bravely, if Harry recalled correctly. Even though he was mainly acting as a medic, the medic whose job it was to pull the injured from the thick of battle had to be ready to defend not only himself, but his injured (and often unconscious) charge, who often required full attention in a time and place when you should really be paying attention to what's going on around you. Ironically, it is the medics who where often most seriously injured, if only because they frequently didn't know a curse was coming until it was too late to respond. In a flash, the memory of the very last time Harry had seen Draco flooded his consciousness

_Voldemort had just hit Molly Weasley, who had fallen hard. Harry knew better than to let anything distract him in a battle situation, but seeing the closest thing to a mother that he had had since he was on infant fall so unceremoniously to the ground drew his full attention, and he didn't have enough time to respond to the curse that was sent his way from the same wand the had fallen Molly. Out of nowhere, Draco had jumped into the path of the curse, deflecting it from Harry. It was only then that Harry realised that it had been Crucio. Harry had thrown a curse at Voldemort attempting to distract him from the hate in his eyes, which blazed in their focus on his former servant, writhing under the weight of his unforgivable curse. As Harry's curse hit home only enough to distract Voldemort from his torture, the evil man had noticed that he was surrounded by the forces of light, and his Death Eaters where nowhere in site. He turned and fled._

_Panting, Draco had crawled over to Molly to begin his work. Harry just stood and watched, the concern evident in his face, before he was berated by the Slytherin, voice still rough and deep from the torture of Crucio. "Why don't you let me do my job? Go do yours." Draco indicated back over his shoulder in the Direction Voldemort had fled. As much as Harry wanted to stay by Molly's side, Draco was right._

_Harry followed Voldemort, who thankfully had assumed that he was the only one who knew how to get down into the Chamber of Secrets. That was a better place for this to happen, no innocent bystanders to get hurt, or in the worst case scenario, to watch Harry die…_

"Fine, I guess. After the final battle, I became apprentice to Harbergrave, the head potions master at St. Mungo's, and trained to become a healer. I've been there since, until Minerva contacted me about this job. I missed Hogwarts, so I decided to accept her offer."

Harry didn't realise he had been holding his breath until it all came out in a relieved rush when Draco had finished speaking. "So, are you married? Do we hear the pitter patter of little Malfoy feet?"

Draco looked at him incredulously for a minute. "Um…No," he ended with a grin, not sure if Harry's question had been asked in jest. "How about you?"

"Well, I finished my Auror training. Hermione is an Unspeakable, and Ron's an Obliviator. I had been living with them until Hermione got pregnant."

"Wow, I had no idea the Golden Gryffindor Trio was THAT close."

Harry was confused by this. Until what Draco was implying finally hit him.

"They were letting me stay in their spare bedroom, to help with rent. We weren't together!"

The smirk growing on Draco's face told Harry that Draco had known this the whole time, and was indeed just relishing in tormenting Harry.

"So, you left the Aurors to teach? I'd have though someone like you would live off the rush of catching dark wizards for a living."

"I've never been an Auror." Still a bit miffed at Draco's teasing, Harry didn't offer anything else in explanation. He only focused back down on his eggs, pushing them around his plate with his fork.

"Well, I rose through the ranks pretty quickly at St. Mungo's. Harbergrave and I were working on the Dislobular Potion; too bad she died before she could see the final version successfully tested. After the success of the potion, they promoted me pretty quickly. I was second in line after Harbergrave's successor, Perkins."

The Dislobular Potion, that rang a bell. There had been something a few years back… "The Dislobular Potion! That was you?"

"Yes, it was an idea I had started working on while still in school, actually, while looking through my father's old dark arts library."

"You invented the Dislobular Potion?"

"Well, I had help. At first from Snape here at Hogwarts, before he died in the final battle, but I couldn't have done it without Harbergrave's help. Her expertise really made it what it is."

"You invented the potion that cured Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom?!?!??"

"Well, yes. It counters all psychological effects in people who survive dark magic."

Harry couldn't believe that the boy he had thought of as nothing more than a thorn his side since he was eleven had done so much for the world. He had given Neville his parents back, and reunited countless other families. Harry just looked at his co-worker, not knowing what to say.

"Hmm," Draco cleared his throat, finally looking down and breaking eye contact with Harry. "So, what about you? Married? Kids?"

"Uh, no. Not me." Harry finally looked away.

"Good, I kind of like it here. I'd like to stay, but I WILL quit rather than be forced to waste my time trying to teach a Potter potions."

Draco was trying to get to him again, Harry could tell. But this time the provocation just made the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor smile.

-- -- -- -- --

The days passed more easily since the two men had declared a truce. They would meet down in the great hall for meals, filling each other in on what had happened in each of their lives since school. In a very short period of time, Harry went from dreading meals to looking forward to them. It really was nice to have someone else in the castle over the summer. The presence of even one other person made the large halls of the castle seem less cold and imposing.

During one particular breakfast, Harry found himself purposefully eating slow, not wanting his time spent with his co-worker to end. They had been talking about their plans for lessons for the upcoming year, both brainstorming about what kinds of things would be appropriate for a first-year Defence Against the Dark Arts class, something that Harry was finding challenging. He had had no idea the number of regulations the Ministry posed on what his youngest students could be taught. He almost found himself forgiving Quirrell and Lockhart for their lacklustre lessons in his first two years at Hogwarts. Harry found that Draco's knowledge about the dark arts, having grown up with a Death Eater father, and technically being a former Death Eater himself, made picking the man's brain about the subject quite useful.

"Well, you could always cover dark detectors and security measures. They're generally innocuous enough. I remember reading about a particular kind-a Hemmel Sphere, I think it was-that allows you to monitor the activity in a room when you aren't there."

"Yeah, I've even modified mine so it can alert me when something actually happens, rather than just recording what happens for later viewing."

"You have a Hemmel Sphere? They're pretty rare, from what I know of them."

"Yes, I got mine two years ago. I was actually thinking it would be a good way to monitor a class during test taking. But then I figured I could just us one of my Sneakoscopes for that."

"One of your Sneak-How many dark detectors do you have?"

"I have hundreds. I started collecting them while still here at Hogwarts. Ron got me my first-a Sneakoscope, actually. Most of them are down in my office, except the ones I keep in my rooms."

"You have the Hemmel Sphere here?" At Harry's nod, Draco asked, "May I see it? I've never actually seen one in person."

Taken aback by Draco's request, Harry answered without even thinking. "Sure, are you done?" Both men looked down at their plates and realised that they had finished eating quite a while ago.

They made their way to Harry's office together, and Harry found it odd to be spending time with Draco outside of the Great Hall. It brought him back to memories of the Slytherin when they were still at school together, the feelings of which clashed inversely with his current feelings about the man. Then, the presence of Draco could have only meant discomfort to Harry, either directly at the hands of Draco, or because of the violent clashes during the war. Now he felt oddly at ease around the other man, eager to be in his presence, and looking forward to the times they could spend together when they were apart.

Draco looked sideways at the other man when Harry began to lead them down into the dungeons, but said nothing until they stopped outside a door and Harry tapped his wand on it, causing the lock to noisily unlatch.

"THIS is your office?"

"Yes, I wanted it to be close to my classroom, and I requested that my class be held in the dungeons. I thought the dark, dank atmosphere would go well with the subject."

"How very dramatic of you! Gryffindor through and through, I see."

"What can I say? I'm a theatrical kind of guy." Harry grinned and shrugged at the other man.

"My rooms are very close to here. Just there, in fact." Draco pointed a mere ten metres further down the hall.

"Those are the entrances to the Slytherin common room."

"Yes, across the hall from the common room is a hidden door to the chambers for head of Slytherin."

"Oh, you're head of Slytherin too?"

"Yes, well with Slughorn's retirement last month, I am currently the only faculty member who was actually IN Slytherin, so Minerva offered it to me when she hired me. If I didn't want the job, she was going to offer it to Vector, but I couldn't leave my Slytherins at the hands of a Ravenclaw! I didn't actually fancy spending any more of my life in dungeons, but unfortunately, the chambers come with the job."

"Is the potions classroom still to be in the dungeons as well?"

"No! I never understood how Snape could handle teaching the subject down here. The fumes sometimes! I want windows where I work. My classroom and office are both up in the west wing of seventh floor."

"My chambers are in the west wing, seventh floor. The head's chambers at the base of Gryffindor tower, actually."

Draco looked at him, surprised. "Small world."

"I guess we will be seeing a lot of each other this year."

"Oh, joy!" Draco had tried to sound sarcastic, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that his colleague was actually trying to hold back a smile. Finally, Harry turned back to the door and opened it, leading the other man into his office. Draco's jaw dropped.

"Well, here they are," Harry said, indicating the shelves that lined every bit of wall in the office except the portion taken up by the stone fireplace. Since there were no windows that might be blocked, Harry had chosen to magically expand his shelves so that they reached from floor to ceiling, and even arched above the door. The room was quite large, and there was a ladder set on wheels fixed to a brass bar that ran along the tops of the shelves, so that even things on the highest shelves could be reached. Magic could easily retrieve anything Harry wanted to get, so he must have added them for aesthetic reasons. Since the shelves covered every bit of wall, and Harry had laid a richly coloured oriental rug on the floor, the office didn't feel like it was in a dungeon. The dark cherry wood of the shelving and of the desk at the centre of the room, the rich leather of the chairs on either side of the desk and the deep burgundies, blues, greens and yellows of the rug actually made the room feel like a very comfortable study. Draco had to admit that Harry had good taste in interior design. What made the room so awe-inspiring, though, was not the decor. The ceiling of the dungeon office had been enchanted, much like the ceiling of the great hall, to reflect the sky outside. A cloudless morning sky shone down on the men from above.

"That must make being stuck down in the dungeons more bearable." Draco indicated up toward the ceiling as he spoke.

"That's why I did it. I wanted a dramatic classroom, but there is no need for me to have to deal with the darkness all day long."

"YOU enchanted this ceiling!?!??!?" Draco was shocked; there were probably not many witches or wizards alive who could perform that complicated bit of magic.

"Yes, I've never been a fan of enclosed spaces, ever since I was very young; I slept in a very small room as I was growing up. I studied up on this ancient enchantment as soon as I was able." At Draco's incredulous look, he continued, "Admittedly, it is a bit involved-has elements of both transfiguration and charmwork-but, Hermione helped me figure it out."

"Is it, I mean...Would you be able to do this in my chambers?"

"Yes, if you like."

They spent the rest of the morning in the dungeons. First, Harry showed Draco some of his more rare and valuable dark detectors, then they made their way down the hall to the Slytherin's chambers.

Draco opened the door, and let Harry into a sitting room with two doors off either side, and one in the middle of the back. If these chambers were anything like the head of Gryffindor's the middle door lead to a toilet, and through there, the doors to a bath not unlike the prefects' bathroom. The doors on either side lead to two similar large rooms. Harry had made one of his into a bedroom, and had no idea yet what he was going to do with the other.

"Normally, I can do the ceiling, which mimics what is directly above the dwelling- or I can do walls, which act as if the wall they are on was an outside wall with a window. It works almost as if I were covering everything between the enchanted surface and the outdoors in a great invisibility cloak. Unfortunately, as here we are underground, I can only do the ceiling. If I did the wall, all you could see would be dirt, perhaps the occasional earthworm or mole."

"Oh, no. The ceiling is fine. Don't worry about it." Draco smiled at the other man. "I really appreciate this, by the way. You're making my life here so much more enjoyable."

Though he knew Draco was just referring to making his living quarters more enjoyable, Harry felt the same way about Draco in general. Though their relationship had changed from what it originally was, having something, other than the castle itself, that connected his current life to his previous life within these walls gave him a sense of rightness he had not experienced since leaving school.

Even though he had been living with Ron and Hermione, with his friends' marriage and their differing jobs, the dynamics of their relationship had shifted. Though they lived in the same flat for years, Harry didn't see them much, and sometimes felt like his presence was an intrusion in their life together. When they had first found out that they were going to have a baby six months ago, Harry took it as his sign that it was time for him to move on and give them their space. He had been living out of his suitcase in the inn at the Leaky Cauldron ever since.

His lack of a steady job didn't help his feelings of disconnect. He had plenty of money left over from his parent's inheritance, and what Sirius had left him. With proper investing, Harry would never have to work a day in his life. He had taken all of those Muggle jobs in an attempt to escape what his life had become. Though he truly believed the wizarding world was where he belonged, he wished he could enjoy a life of anonymity within it. Stares and whispers followed him and journalists the likes of Rita Skeeter hounded him with cameras wherever he went in the wizarding world. He found it hard to connect to people with a life like that. The only world in which he felt he could be treated normal was the Muggle world. Only, he wasn't normal in the Muggle world either.

He had only attempted two serious relationships in his life, both with Muggles. These relationships had presented their own set of problems. So much of who he was and what was important to him had to do with the magical world, but wanting to keep all of that a secret, at least until he found the right person, represented a catch-22. He couldn't share who he really was with someone until he was sure they were right for him, but he couldn't get close enough to someone to find if they were right for him unless he could share who he was first. Both of his relationships with Muggles had ended badly; they had both broken up with him complaining of his 'fear of intimacy'. "If you never let anyone in, you'll die alone." Arden's bitter parting words still stuck in Harry's mind: the end of his first attempt at a real relationship as a mark for what his whole life would inevitably become, as confirmed by the end of his second relationship three years later.

So, not able to fit in to the Muggle world, and not able to fit in to the wizarding world, Harry existed in a world of one, with only himself as company.

But now, again living in the only place he had ever thought of as home, and with the presence of Draco to link the present with the past, things finally felt like they were falling into place. Their relationship still held enough of an edge to keep it familiar, to keep it in line with their earliest memories of each other. But the driving force behind their interactions was no longer animosity, though Harry couldn't quite decide what had replaced it. The men would play off each other, each trying to outdo the other, but with the new lack of hostility, the whole dynamic had only become more enjoyable for both of them.

Harry smiled at Draco in return, deciding to refrain from telling Draco that the feeling was mutual. They remained like that, eyes fixed on each other trying to convey what they were feeling without actually having to say it, until Harry broke them out of the moment by saying, "I suggest we don't do it in the bedroom."

"Hrm, uh-what?!?" Harry's suggestion had startled Draco out of whatever thoughts he had been lost in.

"Sure, sleeping under the stars is nice, and all, but you'd regret it during the first thunderstorm. It's impossible to sleep with all that flashing. Plus, unless your sleeping patterns coincide with the movement of the sun..."

"Oh! Uh- In here is fine." He led Harry over to the door on the right side, nearly tripping over a small end-table on his way. "I saw the plant in your office. Is it safe to assume that sunlight can travel through this as if there were nothing there?"

"Good eye! Yes it does."

"Perfect." He opened the door, and harry saw that the room was as empty as his own spare room.

"If I magically expand the room, will the ceiling expand too, or are the borders of the enchantment fixed?"

"Good, question. I've never thought about it. But from the way I understand the spells involved, if I think of the walls as the border, the parameters should expand to fit whatever configuration the walls take. I can give it a try, at least."

"Great. Let's do it in here, then."

"Okay, um-like I said, this is complicated magic. Every time I do this the people in the room with me get this funny...reaction. I just thought I'd warn you. I'll need to close the door, so you have to decide whether you want to be in here when I..."

"Oh, I want to see this!"

"Okay" –Harry walked over to the door and closed it- "try to stay up against the wall."

Harry moved into the middle of the room and lowered his head. Draco backed toward the wall and waited. At first he thought that nothing was happening, until he felt the hairs on his arm begin to stand on end. He could hear a faint mumbling coming from Harry, but the man wasn't speaking Latin. As his words became louder, Draco began getting incredibly dizzy, and was thankful for the support of the wall. Leaning his head back against the stone walls, he looked up at the ceiling and noticed a white sparkle beginning to form above Harry. It grew bigger and brighter as it spread to cover the whole ceiling. Finally, it flashed out so bright, Draco had to close his eyes. He fell forward, barely catching himself on his hands. When he opened his eyes again, everything seemed too bright. Draco looked up at the ceiling, and there, the noon sun sat high, shining down into the dungeon room. Harry was on his knees, panting in the middle of the floor, shirt sticking to his sweaty frame as if he had just run a marathon.

"Potter! Are you okay?" He crawled over to the other man, stopping short when he saw how pale Harry had become.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting..." Harry fell face first into the floor. Though he was already on his knees, the impact was still enough to shatter his glasses as he fell.

"Harry, what the-" Draco flew easily back into medic mode as if the war had ended yesterday, and not five years ago. He flipped the Gryffindor over on his back and levitated him out of the room and onto the couch in the sitting room. He went into his toilet and grabbed a few potions he always kept on hand, and went back to the couch to tip them back into the unconscious man's throat. After the second was dispensed, Harry blearily opened his green eyes to meet the concerned grey ones above him. He obviously had trouble focusing on the face, despite its close proximity, so Draco moved in until he could see the Gryffindor's eyes finally come into focus.

"What the bloody hell was THAT about?"

"Sorry, that drained me a bit more than usual. I just need to rest here for a bit, if that's okay."

"You need to replenish your energy, I have something to help."

Draco reached down for the last potion he had brought from the other room, trying to hand it to the Gryffindor.

"That's not necessary. I just need a minute."

"The hell it isn't, you're making the Bloody Baron look tan. Now take this, or I will MAKE you."

Harry found himself obeying before he had completely caught on to what the Slytherin had said. "You could give Pomfrey a run for her money," he finally said as he grimaced around the liquid that was now burning down his throat, wishing he had had the mental facilities to put up more of a protest.

"I take that as a compliment." The Slytherin looked down at him sternly, making sure the other man kept the admittedly vile potion down.

End Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night, Draco lay on the floor of his new piece of the outdoors in the cold lifelessness of the dungeons, thinking about his Gryffindor classmate-cum-coworker. Draco had first settled in the room to plan the layout of the garden he wanted to occupy the space. Beside him lay scroll of paper, with diagrams, lines and labels scribbled all over it. Arranged around him were the crumpled drafts of the plans that he had discarded for one reason or another. He had worked through sunset, relishing as the sky above him went from light blue, to orangeish pink, to purple, and finally settled on a blackish-blue speckled with white. When it became too dim to see his designs, he considered lighting his wand to continue working, but as he looked up at the sky he saw a very bright speck of blue just at the horizon his wall made to the sky above. Recognising this immediately as, not a star, but the planet Venus, Draco was reminded of what Harry had said about sleeping under the stars.

Draco had never even considered the stars beyond astronomy work. He had always looked at memorising star charts and constellations as a pain, but now looking at the stars in a new way, Draco came to appreciate, for the first time, the beauty of them. He lay back on the stone floor, resting his head on his arms. He could still name every constellation by memory, and a single look at the sky could tell him what direction he was facing and what time of year it was. But his knowledge of the predictably dependable night sky didn't interfere with his thoughts on it now. It really was amazing. He could see why people who lived millennia ago had romanticised the night sky, naming the stars after the gods they had assumed them to be.

This spell was the nicest thing anyone had done for him in a long while. If he had known how much it drained Harry to perform it, he would have never asked. He cursed the Gryffindor for not telling him what would happen, but thanked him at the same time. This room would be his haven in the darkness, and he would be eternally grateful for its existence.

When Draco had first walked in to the great hall and seen Harry sitting up at the staff table, he had been shocked. The Gryffindor hadn't changed much since his Hogwarts days. He looked older, but the age had only emphasized the Gryffindor's already striking features. He had grown a slight goatee, which just made the man look rugged, and his Auror training was evident in his musculature.* Draco found himself appreciating these new changes in the man. That was, until he met that famous green glare, and knew that, despite his declared allegiance to the winning side during the war, Harry still thought of him as an enemy.

Draco had found their first few weeks together draining, and didn't think he could survive the summer like that, much less the rest of his teaching career, which is what spurred him to make the peace like he had. He had extended an olive branch, as a futile effort to make his life easier, but had been shocked when the Gryffindor had accepted. He had been even more shocked to find that he actually enjoyed being with the Gryffindor, and relieved to find that, though their relationship had become decidedly more friendly, the competitive foundation still remained. Spending time with the Gryffindor kept Draco on his toes, which he found stimulating. He also found the man's sense of humour surprisingly enjoyable, as well as his unexpected intelligence.

Harry was undeniably enjoyable to look at as well which, Draco had to admit to himself, was incredibly welcomed in his life given his dry patch of late. Part of the drawback of being a former Death Eater, despite his embracing the side of light, and even helping them win the war, was that no matter how much you prove your true feelings and intentions, people still look on you with suspicion. Most of the wizards who showed any interest in him assumed that he was a dark wizard, and those whose attraction to him was based on this assumption were the exact type he had no interest in including in his life. Despite all he had accomplished, he found non-dark wizards frustratingly uninterested in a former bad-boy, no matter how reformed.

That was the other enjoyable thing about Harry's company. Aside from their first few rocky weeks together, Harry was the first person in a long time that had treated Draco as more than a reformed Death Eater who was prone to relapse at the drop of a hat. Though the Gryffindor was probably straight as a wand, and nothing would ever come of it, Draco allowed himself to revel in the relationship that he was sure was quickly developing into an unrequited crush.

He needed to find a way to thank the other man for this room. He lay there, gazing at the stars for the first time in a long time, trying to find some way to show his appreciation.

-- -- -- -- --

"What do you get someone in a situation like this?" Draco found himself muttering as he wove among shoppers in Hogsmeade looking for ideas. Normally, Draco would find the most expensive thing he could to try to make an impression on someone, but judging by Harry's collection of Dark Detectors, some of which were so sought after that they would have made Draco's own father green with envy, Harry was well-off himself. Besides, Draco didn't think that Harry was the type to really care much about material things. It was quite refreshing, but made it impossible for Draco to shop for him.

'What am I going to say to him, anyway?' he thought to himself, as he scoped out the possibilities. He stopped and peered into the front window of Zonko's 'Thank you for making the rooms I am forced to inhabit bearable, here's a joke wand.' No that was absurd. He moved on a few doors down to a book shop. 'Here, have this encyclopaedia of dark arts counter-curses in appreciation for accepting me despite my shady past.' Ridiculous. He looked across the street to the candy shop. "Thank you for giving me something to think about as I go to bed every night, and something to look forward to when I get up every morning. Have a Chocolate Frog.' Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

He had circled the village four times looking for an idea, and was even considering Apparating to Diagon Alley to expand his search when a sign on an old, ornate closed-down building down one of Hogsmeade's side streets caught his eye.

_La Baguette Magique de l'ivoire_

_Opening Night - July 31st_

It was a perfect idea, and Draco had just over a week to prepare.

-- -- -- -- --

During lunch on the 31st Draco had had a hard time, at first convincing Harry to come down to Hogsmeade with him that evening instead of eating in the Great Hall, and then convincing him that he needed to dress up a bit before heading out.

After Harry had made his way up the main stairs, looking suspiciously over his shoulder at his co-worker as he did so, Draco realized he should have been more specific about what Harry should wear. Worrying over what the other wizard would come back down wearing that evening, he quickly realized he didn't know what he was going to wear either. He went to his own rooms and hastily bathed before wrapping a towel around his waist and making his way to the wardrobe to dress. First he carefully picked out his best pair of pants, though he didn't know why he bothered. 'It's not like Harry will be seeing them, or anything,' he thought ruefully. Then, he pulled out outfit after outfit. He held them all in front of him, still on their hangers, seeing the effect of each in the mirror. He mixed and matched tops with bottoms, exploring every possible combination that his wardrobe afforded, trying to ignore the unhelpful advice of his talking mirror, who kept suggesting that nudity would be the most impressive course of action. When he had narrowed it down he began trying the articles of clothing on, taking more care than he usually did to look at himself from every possible angle. He finally decided on an outfit. It was a simple pair of black slacks and a cream coloured cashmere turtleneck. He then grabbed a simple black belt and some brown shoes, tying the laces carefully, trying to avoid a lopsided knot. Looking at the clock he realised that he had been preparing for the better part of six hours. He quickly raked a comb through his hair, checked himself in the mirror again (the mirror thankfully reminded him to zip his fly), and went back into the entrance hall to meet Harry. Pacing nervously as he waited.

When the Gryffindor finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Draco breathed a sigh of relief, before his breath caught in his throat. Harry wore a green button-down shirt, the top two buttons undone showing a sliver of his muscled chest underneath, well-fitting black trousers with a hint at a maroon pinstripe, and a dark brown suede sport jacket on top. As he got closer, Draco remarked to himself on how well the shirt really brought out the green of the other man's eyes. He tried to say something appreciative, but his throat just wouldn't work.

Apparently Harry wasn't having the same problem. "Wow! You look good, Draco. So where, exactly, are we going?"

It took Draco a while to find his voice, and when it finally did come, it started out as a squeak. "Ther-hummm-There's a new French restaurant opening tonight in Hogsmeade, and I thought we could try it out."

At Harry's odd look, Draco continued, "I wanted to buy you dinner, to repay you for that spell."

"Okaaayy, but it was really nothing." Harry looked sceptical, but followed him out of the oak front doors.

"I know, but it meant a lot."

They walked in silence for a while, Harry periodically peering at Draco through the corner of his eye. "Where you aware that today is my birthday?" he finally asked as they made their way down High Street.

"Yes, a little birdie told me." Draco smiled to himself and pat the wrapped box in his pocket, thankful for the fact that he had gone down to the kitchens earlier to ask the elves not to make dinner, and run into Dobby, who had clued him in to that little fact. It had given him some time to get something for Harry.

They rounded the corner and saw the tiny side street lit up brighter than the main concourse, with a large group of smartly dressed people lined up outside the newly opened restaurant.

"I don't think we're going to get in. Look at all those people!"

"I made a reservation last week. We have a table for eight o'clock. Plus, you're Harry Potter. They'd probably let us in anyway, just on account of that."

This thought seemed to make Harry slightly uncomfortable, but he said nothing about it.

As they approached the building, Draco bypassed the line in favour of approaching the hostess standing behind a purple velvet rope holding a clipboard. "Malfoy, réservation pour huit," he said flawlessly.

She scanned her clipboard and nodded, before looking up and seeing the two men. Her eyes lit up, and she answered in a very heavy French accent. "Oui, right zis way, monsieurs." She unfastened the rope and led the two men into the restaurant. Many of the people waiting in line seemed impressed that they would be eating at the same restaurant as Harry Potter.

As the hostess led them back into a more private corner of the restaurant, as he had requested in his reservation, Draco couldn't help but notice the glances that Harry drew from the other diners, more than a few of which deliberately attempting to convey attraction. Harry seemingly didn't notice any of this, but Draco could see that Harry's eyes were determinedly fixed forward, as if to avoid having to look left or right.

When they finally reached their table, Harry purposefully chose a chair that would face away from a majority of the diners. The hostess placed a menu in front of each of them saying, "Your waitress this evening ez Michèle. She weel be wiz you shortly. Bonsoir." She made her way back to the front of the restaurant.

"Are people always like this when you're around?" Draco asked, scanning the sea of faces around them that were still turned toward the new arrivals.

"Unfortunately, yes." Harry picked up the menu and held it up, almost in a seeming attempt to block their table from view of those closest to their right who, admittedly, were staring shamelessly.

"I'm sorry, we can go if you want."

"No, I've actually never had French food before. And this menu...is in French!" He had just opened it up.

"Well, yes, it seems it is. You can order by the pictures I guess, or...would you like me to order for both of us?"

"That would probably be best."

"Is there anything I should avoid ordering?"

"No, I'll try anything at least twice." The grin he shot at the other man was hard for Draco to interpret, and it lasted only a brief moment before he continued, "Just get me whatever you want."

Draco glanced through the menu, trying to determine what he thought Harry would like the best.

The waitress made her way to the table a while later. "Bonsoir, Messieurs." When she saw Harry, she immediately began flirting with him-in French. "J'espère que vous avez vu quelque chose ici qui vous intéresse." As she said this, she reached a hand up and pulled the neck line of her shirt down a bit in an attempt to appear enticing. Unfortunately for her, Harry never even looked up at her, but instead was shooting Draco a 'help me' look.

"Tous les deux commenceront par le Bisque de Langoustine. Puis Escargots Bourgogne, Salade Niçoise, La Poule au Riz À la Crème, et pour le dessert Soufflé de Banane et Chocolat. Ah, et une bouteille de votre meilleur vin blanc." The words flowed off his tongue naturally, leaving Harry in a daze in their wake.

She looked away from Harry only enough to nod at Draco, before attempting to make eye contact with the Gryffindor as she turned away.

Looking impressed, Harry had to ask, "Since when do you speak French?"

"Since I could speak English." At Harry's raised eyebrows, Draco continued, "We had a Villa in Auvergne, and liked to spend the summers there."

"Okay, so what does 'La Bagit Maggequa delivery' mean?"

Draco failed to suppress his chuckle. "La Baguette Magique de l'ivoire, it means 'The Ivory Wand'."

"Oh."

The waitress came back, trying to catch Harry's eye as she poured some wine into two glasses and placed one in front of each wizard.

"Well" –Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out the box he had wrapped earlier- "here is your birthday present."

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know, but I wanted to."

The waitress watched the two men interacting, and Draco could tell the moment something occurred to her. She noticed the way the two men leaned in toward each other, they way they maintained eye contact for long periods of time, and the very fact that they had come together to the opening night of a romantic French restaurant. She thought that they were a couple. Meanwhile, Harry unwrapped his gift. In it he found a blank journal with a smart leather cover, a black ostrich feather quill, and a brass pen holder with an ink pot attached.

"Wow, thank you."

"If you already have one, you can return it."

"No, I don't have one."

"It's just as a thank you for what you did in my room."

Waitress looks sideways at them, eyebrows raised. Apparently her suspicions were confirmed.

"You don't have to thank me for that, I was happy to. Besides, I thought that was what dinner was for."

Draco waited until the waitress moved away before saying anything else. "You have no idea how hard it was to pick something out for you. Bloody Gryffindors are impossible to shop for."

"Oh, we're not. Besides, I was nearly sorted into Slytherin, so I can't be that different from you, really."

"You were not!"

"I was, the hat only put me in Gryffindor because I asked it to."

Draco looked as if Harry had blasphemed. "Why?!!?!"

"Well, you, and some things Hagrid and Ron had said to me."

The waitress come back, with their first course, as Draco looked down into his lap. Harry's words had obviously stung the man, which is not what he was going for. He reached out and put a hand on top of the Slytherin's, which was lying beside his plate.

"Oh, don't worry, I've since learned that people, both Gryffindors and Slytherins, can sometimes let misguided stereotypes wrongly influence their decisions." The touch only lasted a second before Harry withdrew his hand. Looking up, Draco saw the waitress looking at Harry with dreamy eyes again.

"Although I do think I was put in the right house," the Gryffindor concluded.

"I think you were too. " He only realized after he said it that he truly meant it as a compliment.

End Chapter Three

TBC

-- -- -- -- --

*A/N: * For anyone who cares, with this description of Harry, I had in mind the image of Daniel Radcliffe from the August 2007 cover of Details Magazine. I suggest you Google it now if you're so inclined, it's an awesome picture of him. He HAS grown up, hasn't he?

Of course, I had to see Equus when I was in London in spring of '07. I don't think you can see a guy totally naked on stage, especially in THAT context (read the play-you'll see what I mean), and still think of him as a kid.


	4. Chapter 4

They finished off the bottle of wine, and ate their way merrily through their meal. Draco was impressed by Harry's openness to try new things, especially when the plate of snails was laid out before them, and Harry didn't even flinch. They shared pleasant conversation, and afterward, Harry seemed reluctant for his birthday to end, so Draco suggested that they move on to the Three Broomsticks.

At the Three Broomsticks, they chose a booth set in a back corner, though there weren't many people in the pub. They sat on opposite edges of the bench that surrounded three sides of the table, but both scooted around until they were sitting next to each other in the corner. When the barmaid came around to take their drink orders, Harry, happily tipsy, proudly proclaimed to the barmaid, "Today is my birthday, and my friend has taken me out to celebrate. Bring us a bottle of Firewiskey and two glasses."

He had thrown his arm around Draco's shoulders, and both men were beaming up at the barmaid. She smiled and winked down at them before disappearing. Not even a minute later she had returned with a very large bottle of Firewiskey, and two glasses. "Happy birthday, Mr. Potter." She beamed back at them.

"Thank you, Miss!"

Harry was apparently a light weight; he was already obviously tipsy, whereas Draco didn't even feel any effects from the wine they had shared, though after a second glass of Firewiskey, he was beginning to feel warm all over. Harry, on the other hand, had moved beyond tipsy to drunk. Harry was a touchy feely drunk, always seeming to want some sort of physical contact with Draco. Draco wondered if it was in attempt to stay upright, since the head of Gryffindor was swaying slightly in his seat. Harry was obviously a friendly drunk as well. He joked with the barmaid as she came by to see if they needed anything else, somehow still managing to remain witty and charming, even when intoxicated. Draco listened as well as he could, but as Harry had begun to ask for a travelling case to take the Firewiskey home in, his hand had found Draco's thigh, and Draco could focus on nothing else.

The barmaid brought the leather case, and packed the bottle inside for the men, wisely choosing to hand it to Draco instead of Harry. Harry paid for the bottle, tipping very generously, Draco observed, and then they made their way out into the street and back up to the castle, Draco throwing Harry's arm over his own neck to help support the slightly swaying man.

"Thank you for taking me out on my birthday. This has been my best birthday ever." Draco wasn't sure if that were actually true, or just a kind thanks, but he tightened his grip around the other man's waist in response as they made their way up to the castle.

Draco helped Harry up to the door to his rooms, where Harry reluctantly extracted his arm from around Draco's neck, and shifted his weight to lean against the door instead, his forehead pressed into the wood as he fumbled with the knob. Finally he managed to get the door to open, but with his full weight leaning against the door, he began to fall face first. With a Seeker's reflexes, Draco dropped the case of Firewiskey and caught Harry by the hips, pulling him backward and upright, the quick movement causing the drunk man to stumble back into Draco's chest, and then forward again in overcompensation. When Harry had finally achieved some semblance of upright, Draco released his hips and kicked the Firewiskey inside the rooms just enough so he could close the door behind them. In the meantime, Harry had peeled the suede jacket off and dropped it in a heap on the floor, and nearly tripped on it on his way to the bedroom. The jacket was a nice one, and Harry had looked VERY good in it. Not wanting it to get ruined, Draco picked up the jacket, and helped Harry toward the room that the man had indicated with an uncoordinated bob of his head.

Inside the room was a giant bed low to the ground with a very thick overstuffed white comforter and many pillows, and a large black wardrobe. Draco brought the jacket over to the wardrobe and hung it up. As he turned around he saw that Harry had shut the bedroom door and was leaning back against it, eyes fixed on Draco.

"Do you need help?"

Harry nodded his head, somehow never lifting it off the door as he did so. Draco made his way over to the man, suddenly nervous. Before him stood (well, leaned) the man who had featured in Draco's fantasies since the moment he had come back to Hogwarts. Even before they had made the peace, Draco would have admitted that Harry was an incredibly sexy man. Even his first night in the castle, he had woken from a dream that involved Harry licking and sucking mustard off of every inch of Draco's body. Of course, the physical attraction would have been easy enough to ignore, but once peace had been achieved between them, Draco had come to learn that Harry was nothing at all like Draco had always assumed he was. Harry had been right about letting misguided stereotypes influence your thinking. Unfortunately for Draco, he found that Harry's personality was as incredible as his looks. Physical attraction may be easy enough to ignore, but intellectual and emotional attraction were harder to overlook.

Draco was, in every conceivable way, attracted to Harry, and now he was faced with the task of helping to undress the object of his attraction. Harry remained leaning back against the door, content to let Draco do all the work. Calling up every bit of clinical detachment he could muster from his days as a medic, the new potions master reached up and began to unbutton Harry's shirt. The clinical detachment was harder to maintain as Harry, head still resting against the door, kept his heavily lidded eyes intently focused on Draco. To stave off the intense feelings Draco was trying to suppress, he refused to meet that gaze, instead focusing his attention on what he was doing. Of course, with each button unfastened, a bit more of Harry's well muscled chest was revealed. Unclothed, Harry's body looked every bit of good as Draco had always imagined it looking. Draco swiftly made his way down the buttons, purposefully not thinking about the little trail of hair that began under Harry's belly button, not thinking about where it led. When the shirt was completely unbuttoned, and Harry made no move to push his back away from the door to take the shirt all the way off, Draco asked uncertainly, "Trousers too?"

Harry nodded, again his head never leaving the door, and offered a faint hum of assent. Draco hadn't thought that course of action through to completion. He dropped down on his knees, eyes momentarily sweeping the (of course out of mind) trail of hair, before studiously avoiding it like they had avoided Harry's gaze. Instead he directed his focus on Harry's shoes while he untied the laces. His task was made harder when Harry brought his hands, which had until this point remained lifelessly hanging by his side, and put them on Draco's shoulders, steadying himself so he could lift his leg enough for Draco to pull his shoe off. After repeating the process with the other shoe, Draco looked up uncertainly at Harry. Thankfully, Harry was no longer watching Draco, and instead seemed to be focused on the ceiling. Now came the part Draco was both dreading, and looking forward to. He looked at that trail of hair, which disappeared into Harry's trousers right behind the brass belt buckle that Draco was now reaching for. Unlike the buttons of his shirt, which could be pulled far enough away from his body to avoid physical contact, his belt lay only millimetres from Harry's flesh, and Draco couldn't help his fingers brushing through the soft trail in the course of their job. In response to the soft tickle Draco's fingers caused as they brushed his lower belly, Harry's belly tightened and he let out a breathy "mmmmmmmmhhhhhh." Vaguely resembling a yummy sound, as the vocalization travelled from Harry's throat to Draco's ears, Draco lost the thread of detachment he had been so desperately holding on to. As he unfastened the button and lowered the zipper, he felt his body beginning to respond. What would he have given, for the circumstances to be slightly different? To be on his knees before a sober Harry, a Harry wanting him as much as he wanted the other man, instead of an intoxicated Harry who simply needed help undressing? Draco mused to himself that the evening did end in one of them seeing the other's pants.

"Okay, hold on Harry." Draco's voice was heavy with desire as he spoke, and he was only relieved that Harry was probably too drunk to notice. Harry's hands shifted slightly, so he could lean on them to support a greater amount of his weight as Draco pulled his trousers off. Quickly as he could, Draco stood to get himself out of the familiar position he had not found himself in for years. Of course he knew how much he missed sex, but he could never have anticipated how much being on his knees in front of Harry would affect him physically. Finally meeting Harry's eyes, Draco felt a peculiar swooping feeling in his gut. Not knowing what it was, and not wanting to take the time to explore the feeling, he pushed it aside and instead helped Harry over to the bed.

"You could stay for a while. My birthday doesn't need to end so soon." The look on the other man's face tempted Draco to stay, but the way Harry managed to sway, even when sitting on the edge of the bed, let Draco know that he couldn't. The more-than-likely-straight Defence Against the Dark Arts professor probably just wanted friendly companionship anyway, and Draco didn't feel he could provide that at the moment. If he stayed, given his own currently intoxicated state, Draco would probably end up doing something that would ruin their friendship, so he had to go. Even in the miniscule chance that there WAS something else behind Harry's offer, it would be wrong to take advantage of the man in this state.

Draco folded the trousers and shirt and threw them over the handle of the wardrobe. "I hate to tell you this, Harry, but your birthday ended two hours ago."

"Oh. It did?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Good night, Harry Potter. Happy birthday."

"Good night, Draco Malfoy. Thank you for everything. Is nice. Have a fluffy bed tonight."

Draco chuckled, "You too."

"Thank you."

Draco left the room and closed the door behind him. He leaned back against the door, letting out a breath that he had never even been aware of holding in. After giving himself a moment to recover, he looked around curiously at Harry's chambers. Where Harry's office had been decorated like a comfortable Victorian study, his chambers, at least the main room and the bedroom, were more modern, with hints of Japanese minimalist influence. Draco stood for a moment, blown away. Who knew his friend and co-worker would have such a flair for interior design? Growing up with the mother he had, whose favourite way to display her wealth was to totally redecorate her home each season and throw lavish parties showing off all her new accoutrements, Draco knew that Harry had talent to more than match even the best interior designers that his mother had hired. She would hire Harry in a heartbeat, Gryffindor golden child or no.

Draco went to check on the Firewiskey that had been dropped, and then kicked into the room. Opening the leather case bearing the high-end logo of the Firewiskey, he found that the bottle was undamaged. Someone must have put a cushioning charm inside the case to protect the contents. When he looked around and couldn't find anything resembling a wet bar, Draco just placed the bottle, in its case, on the table to the side. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he went over to the book cases to see what Harry had there. The shelves down in his office were full of all kinds of books relating to magic, especially defence magic. He even had all the books they had been assigned since first year, they sat, battered and fraying, next to newer glossy volumes. With the selection in Harry's office, Draco couldn't imagine what more could be up here in his personal library. What he found surprised him more. Fiction, poetry, philosophy, and art books sat among many photographs and a few trinkets Harry had collected in his travels. Draco shook his head. He needed to find something about Harry that didn't just leave him wanting more.

Draco looked at the photographs lining the shelves. There were older ones showing Harry's parents and their friends from school, some showing Harry and his friends back in their own school days, and more recent ones as well. There were many pictures that had Ron and Hermione in them; it was obvious they had been a couple since school. Ron's arm could be seen around Hermione in most of the pictures. There were some men and women in the pictures that Draco didn't recognise, but no indication in any of the pictures that Harry was 'with' any of them.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes fell on one picture. In it, Harry and Ron could be seen with a bunch of other guys Draco didn't recognise, playing some sort of Muggle game that involved a multicoloured ball roughly the size of a Quaffle. Half the guys, including Harry, were shirtless. Though Harry was among the smallest men there, it was obvious that he was one of the fastest. Draco watched as Harry manoeuvred out of reach of a man with a shirt on coming toward him, kicked the ball through the space between the man's legs, then quickly circled the man, catching up with the ball behind him, and kicking it into a large net at one edge of the photograph. This must have been a good thing, because Harry jumped into the air in triumph, then made his way closer to the camera, talking to whoever was holding it. He was smiling, and Ron, who was also shirtless, came by and gave Harry a congratulatory slap on the shoulder, blew a kiss at the camera (it must have been Hermione holding it), and started flexing his muscles for his audience. The camera turned to focus on Ron, but Harry remained in view to the side. There was sweat dripping enticingly down his neck and torso, and Draco watched as Harry picked up a bottle of water, swallowed down a couple gulps, then poured the rest down over his head. Draco couldn't look away as the water ran down Harry's muscled chest, past that trail of hair that Draco had so fleetingly brushed earlier, and down past the waist of Harry's shorts.

Draco quickly exited the head of Gryffindor's chambers, and made his way to the dungeons to take a cold shower and whip up a quick hangover cure potion, just in case Harry needed one in the morning.

-- -- -- -- --

Harry awoke in the middle of the night with a brilliant idea, knowing it was the kind of idea that, if not said aloud or written down immediately, would be lost. Quickly making his way out to his sitting room in search of a pen and paper, he found his birthday present still packed in with the case of Firewiskey he had purchased at the Three Broomsticks. Making quick use of his gift, he quickly wrote his idea down before it had a chance to disappear for good, and before he even had enough time to close the book, he fell asleep again right on his sofa.

-- -- -- -- --

"Something occurred to me last night."

Draco had been awoken earlier than he planned on getting up by a knock on his door. When he opened it he found a Harry who looked grim. Of course, the possibilities of what could have occurred to Harry last night rolled around Draco's head as a slight panic filled his mind.

"Oh?"

"Yes, there's a much better way to set up classes. It would make more sense, and the students would get more out of it."

"Oh?" Relief flooded the head of Slytherin as he took a step back and gestured the other man into his rooms.

"Yeh, take a look at this."

Harry handed the other man the journal as he walked into his chambers and sat down on the sofa. The first page of the journal was plastered with barely legible scribbles. Draco looked at it a bit, then looked up at Harry, who was cradling his head with his eyes closed. Draco took pity on the man and handed him the hangover cure he had brewed up the night before as he joined him on the sofa.

"You wrote this last night?"

"Yeah, I just woke up with this idea."

"Wow."

"What do you think?"

"Some people vomit and pass out when they're pissed off their rocker, you come up with this."

"Yeah, about that...I had a really great time last night. I'm sorry if I...I'm sometimes a bit...weird when I'm drunk."

"Well, at least you made a few galleons giving that lady a lap dance."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Kidding!"

As Harry breathed a sigh of relief, Draco continued. "Alas, there was no lap dance. Though you are a friendly drunk, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm. I didn't...? Well, thank you."

He reached over and put his hand on Draco's arm. The men locked eyes as Draco answered, "I had a great time too."

Harry's hand on his arm, and the way he held Draco's gaze began to stir within the head of Slytherin feelings that he had tried to avoid the night before. This would normally be the perfect time to lean in and kiss, but that was something Draco could never do, no matter how much he wanted it.

Instead he took a deep breath, and looked down at the journal, still open in his hands. "This is actually a good idea."

"Do you think we could do something like this at Hogwarts?"

"I think you should talk to McGonagall about it."

-- -- -- -- --

Time continued to pass more enjoyably for the men. Instead of only seeing each other during meal times, they began spending time together between meals, either in each other's quarters, or outside enjoying the mild summer out on the grounds. Both men were aware of the fact that their friendship had shifted greatly in their short time together, and both were aware that it was bound to shift again. It was now August, and time for the way of life they had been forced into at the beginning of the summer to come to an end. Soon other faculty and staff members would be joining them, and Draco feared the effects this would have on his interactions with Harry. First, he feared that Harry's spending time with him was a simple means to counteract the loneliness of living in a huge castle like Hogwarts. Once other options appeared, he worried Harry would no longer have any interest in a friendship with Draco.

His other fear was a little more realistic, based on Draco's experience. Despite his actively working these past few years to counteract his former reputation and the reputation of his family, many people were still reluctant to trust Draco. He knew Harry had seemed to get over his past, but who knows if the presence of others would change that? Draco, though no longer a dark wizard, still had to live under the name Malfoy, and all the reactions it evoked. Harry, on the other hand, was a good as good can be. He had saved them all from Voldemort, he was kind, he was funny, he was brilliant, he was the head of bloody Gryffindor...Even if Harry saw no problem with his consorting with Draco, Draco doubted the rest of the wizarding world would be so accepting of their friendship. Would Harry succumb to those pressures?

It was these thoughts that rolled around Draco's head the night before the arrival of the first one to burst the bubble they had been living in: Rubeus Hagrid.

The men had met for their morning meal, as usual, and were just starting to dig in when the giant man entered the Great Hall. He made his way, lumbering toward the table, and greeted the two other men. Understandably, his greeting to Harry was more enthusiastic than his greeting to Draco; Harry and the older man had been friends for years. But Draco couldn't help feeling that the way Rubeus looked sideways at him was hiding feelings of reservation, if not animosity.

"'Arry, can you come over 'ere for a sec?"

"Um, sure Hagrid."

He followed the larger man out the doors of the great hall, where Hagrid turned to him in earnest. "'As Malfoy been given' ya any trouble?"

"Nah, Draco's been wonderful. I'm really glad he's here."

Hagrid looked at him, not sure if Harry was being serious.

"Look, I know how he was...With Norbert, with Buckbeak, with you, with me, with Ron, with everyone... He was a right prat, but he's changed. Are you the same as you were when you were 13?"

"But his father..."

"That was his father; that was Voldemort; that's not Draco. He's different. Have you forgotten that he saved Mrs. Weasley's life?"

"No, but..."

"Look, I know you can relate to this. You know Aragog, how you loved him and everyone else thought you were crazy? How people treated you when they found out you were half giant? How people respond to Thestrals? To dragons? Snape? 'Misunderstood creatures,' remember? That's what happens when people make judgements with only part of the information. What you're doing to Draco, that's what people do to Werewolves."

"I guess I never looked at 'Im that way."

"Well, now's your chance."

"You've grown into a great wizard, 'Arry. Yer mum an' dad would be proud."

"Thanks, Hagrid. It's wonderful to see you again."

He leaned forward to hug the larger man. No matter how much time passed, being held in giant arms would always make him feel like a kid again.

-- -- -- -- --

During the next two weeks, more staff arrived at Hogwarts, mostly their old professors, who were all very familiar with both men already. It seemed the only other new faces among the staff were Gerald Bath, the new caretaker, taking over after the recent death of Argus Filch, and Gillian Baxter-St. LaMere, the new Transfiguration professor. Gerald seemed to be cut from the same mould as Filch; both gaunt, grumpy, strict, and not very social. The only real difference was that Gerald was younger, and not a squib, if the wand shoved through his belt loop was any indication. Gillian was another matter. She was bubbly and very social, especially where Harry was concerned. The first staff meeting was a clear illustration of this. Taking place the eve of August 31st, it was the first formal meeting of faculty, meant as an introduction and welcome to the new professors. It also happened to be the first time Gillian had had a chance to meet Harry. She had only arrived that afternoon, and had not gotten to speak with Harry at dinner, as he had been engrossed in a conversation with Minerva about his ideas for teaching. She had arrived early to the meeting, hoping to see Harry, and was talking to Minerva when he walked into the room with Draco.

Minerva was please that both men seemed to have gotten over themselves, and actually seemed to have become friends. Gillian just seemed to be excited that Harry had arrived. As soon as they entered, she hopped out of her chair.

"Gillian Baxter-St. LaMere, Transfiguration." She enthusiastically offered her hand to Harry.

"Harry Potter, Defence Against the Dark Arts," He shook her hand. "This is Draco Malfoy, Potions."

She seemed reluctant to release Harry's hand, but eventually did, giving Draco's a quick jiggle, and dropping it twice as fast. The men turned to sit together on a short sofa, and Gillian appeared put-out that she couldn't sit near Harry. Instead she grabbed a nearby straight-backed chair and pulled it over, questioning Harry about his experience with defence. He replied politely, but Minerva sensed the smile on his face had become fixed. It was understandable that Gillian found Harry fascinating, he had had an eventful life, but it was also understandable that Harry was uncomfortable talking about his past. To give the man some respite, Minerva called the meeting to order, first introducing the new faculty, then handing out class schedules. Each professor then had a chance to speak briefly about their plans for the year. Gillian couldn't seem to keep her eyes off Harry, even when someone else was speaking. Of course, even as a boy, he had been charmingly charismatic, and nothing had changed in that department. After the meeting, most of the staff stayed behind to share some tea, and Gillian seemed extremely put-out when Harry and Draco left together instead of joining them.

Of course, each staff member had their own way to prepare for the arrival of the students the next day. Minerva sipped her glass of brandy as she watched Gillian and Pomona talk about Asian plants, and Filius and Aurora play a game of chess; each professor, in their own way, enjoying the calm before the storm.

TBC


End file.
